


"Fishing in the Morning"

by splash_the_cat



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-31
Updated: 2003-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:11:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splash_the_cat/pseuds/splash_the_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written March 31, 2003.  Inspired by Dar Williams' "Fishing in the Morning".  S7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Fishing in the Morning"

Finally, _finally_ warm.  
It had taken her hours to stop shivering. She shrugged deeper into the sleeping bag, drawing it over her head and settling into the cocoon of warmth. Maybe now she could actually fall asle-

_"Carter."_

Oh hell. Dragging one eye open, Sam fumbled with her watch. Oh four something. Must be hallucinating. That was it, due to hypothermia. After yesterday, they certainly wouldn't be stupid enough to wake her-

Something poked her in the shoulder. Could hallucinations do that?

"Hey, Carter. I know you're awake. Get up." Another poke, sharper this time. Someone's finger jabbing her. The Colonel's finger.

Resisting the sudden, irrational urge to reach out and bite the offending digit, Sam groaned. "Are we being attacked?"

"Huh? No."

"Is it my watch?"

"No."

"Is Jonas having apocalyptic visions again?"

"Nope."

"Is the Gate malfunctioning?"

"Uh uh."

She sighed. "Then _why_ are you bothering me... sir?"

There was a pause. "Because I want you to get up."

Sam caught the unspoken "Duh," and gritted her teeth. "Sir, nothing short of a horde of Jaffa is goingto get me out of here before oh six hundred."

"How about a direct order? You wouldn't disobey one of those, would you?"

"Don't tempt me, sir." That came out sharper than she'd intended. Hopefully the sleeping bag muffled her tone.

Sam then felt something nudge her leg. "C'mon, Carter. Just get up."

Rolling over, she struggled with her cocoon of cloth and poked her head out. Jack O'Neill was crouched just inches away, holding her boots. He was using the toe of one to prod her in the leg. "With all due respect, Colonel, just what the hell do you  
want?"

The light from the dual moons was bright enough that she saw the grin that vanished as soon as he realized she was watching him. Well, almost. She could tell he was having a hard time trying to subdue his amusement. Momentary fantasies of grabbing the boot and subduing it for him flitted through her imagination.

Hypothermia. Had to be.

Oblivious, or, more likely,unconcerned at what was going through his second-in-command's mind, Jackstood up. "Come _on_, Carter. Humor me."

Oh, dear God. The man was relentless. Heaving a perhaps overly dramatic sigh, Sam wriggled out of her haven, biting back a few unprofessional words as the wind undid hours of warming up and set her shivering again. It was supposed to be early summer on this planet, but whoever was in charge of the weather around here apparently hadn't consulted with her meteorological charts.

"Cold?"

It is so against regulations to brain your commanding officer with a combat boot, Sam told herself sternly as she yanked the boots out of his hand and shoved her feet into them. No matter how much he's asking for it.

Her jacket appeared in front of her face, dangling from his hand. Fumbling with the laces, Sam got everything tied properly and clambered to her feet, taking the jacket and  
pulling it on. "Okay, I'm up." She knew she sounded disgruntled, but he never said she had to be happy about getting up. A few feet away, Jonas snored softly. He was deeply asleep, and probably warm, too. Sam envied him.

"Sweet. Let's go." Jack waved to Teal'c, who was sitting across the clearing they were camped in, and headed toward the trees.

"Go? You didn't say anything about going anywhere. Sir."

Jack paused a few feet away, practically bouncing on his toes. "Yeah, well, I figured it would be easier to get you up that way." There it was again, that ghost of a grin.  
"Coming, Major?"

It wasn't defeat, she reminded herself as she wearily set off after him. It was a strategic retreat. Time to marshal her forces of logic and talk him into turning around and letting her go back to her nice warm sleeping bag.

In the time it took her to start constructing her argument, the chill air cleared some of the sleepy haze from her head. Sam looked around the path they were taking and realized something.

She stopped walking. "We're going toward the river, sir."

Jack paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Yes, and?"

She closed her eyes and counted to five. Then ten. "And I don't want to go to the river, Colonel."

"Why not?"

Sam blinked at him. "You _do_ remember what happened yesterday, right?"

"Hard to forget that, Carter." The damn grin was back, and he was making no effort to hide it this time. "You made a pretty impressive splash."

"Sir..." Sam crossed her arms.

"Okay, okay. " Jack managed to stop smiling and gestured her forward. "Come on. Trust me, Carter." His gaze was earnest, even entreating. "Please?"

He did that on purpose, Sam was sure of it. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she stomped after him.

*******

Sam wasn't exactly warm, but the walk helped some. At least she'd stopped shivering. Breaking out of the tree line, she paused. Moonlight silvered the river ahead of her, cast with a pale edge of gold from the east as dawn started to creep over the low rolling hills on the horizon.

The colonel was already standing on the bank, idly tossing pebbles into the water.

"Beautiful, huh?" Jack glanced over at her as she stopped next to him, and she shrugged. It was, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

"Looks wet. And cold."

"Well, you'd know."

Sam reminded herself it was also against regulations to shove one's CO into a river. "So what are we doing here, sir?"

In reply he bent down, plucking something off the ground and handing it to her. Wrapping her fingers around it, she felt rough bark. "It's a stick."

"It's a _pole_, Carter." He brandished the one he held at her.

"Pole?" Sam repeated, unsure of what the hell he was talking about. Really, had to be hypothermia. It was the only answer. The river had been very cold, after all.

"Yeah, as in fishing." Gently, he took her shoulder and turned her toward a pile of rocks near the edge. "Sit."

She did, scooting over as he settled down next to her with a contented sigh, hunching forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Fish, Carter."

Two minutes of companionable silence passed. The sky brightened a little. "Um, Colonel?"

"Yeah?"

"There's no bait, sir."

"I know."

Another minute. A pale gold glow lit the water. "Sir?"

"What, Carter?"

"There's no _line_."

"I _know_, Carter."

Five more minutes went by. Sam said, "It's kind of ironic, Colonel."

"How so?"

"No bait, no line, and there's actually fish here."

"Funny, Carter. Very funny." He was grinning again. So, Sam realized, was she. Leaning back, she propped her feet up. He was right. It wasn't about the fish at all.

"Still cold, Carter?"

"No, sir. Not at all."

  
**...............................**   


 

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